An Offering of Fire

In every myth written about the advent of fire there is the tension between creation and destruction. Light, warmth, renewal, and purification versus destruction, pain, loss and chaos. The gods who embodied fire were feared as much as they were revered. There is nothing like a flaming sword, flaming eyes, flaming hair or flaming breath to inspire knee-knocking terror. Still, the fascination is visceral and I think we are as helpless as the suicidal moth to resist an offering of fire.

It became our first technology, lifting us from an existence among animals onto a path toward controlling the world around us. As we learned the ways fire could serve us, I can imagine it changed everything. We could extend our territory, our life expectancy and even the length of our days. At night, around a flickering campfire we could gather under the stars and socialize. We’d develop a common language to share information and make plans, and at some point we’d start telling stories. We’d tell stories about the jouneys we’d made, the animals we hunted, and the people we knew. We’d also create tales to explain the heavenly bodies, weather and, fire.

I imagine we might have started with stories about how it came to us. It was a gift stolen from the gods, or retrieved by Grandmother Spider, or snatched from under the Ostrich’s wing, or poured from an angry goddesses’ mountain, or snatched away by Crocodile or Rabbit or Water Rat. Maui managed to get his grandmother to donate a flaming fingernail. In all these stories, now called myths, the storytellers are weaving strands of imagination into the warp of their lives and their world. We watched the mesmerizing flames and listen carefully as someone told us about the schemes of clever Coyote, the bravery of doomed Prometheus, and the brilliance of trickster, Anansi. Cooperation triumphs over greed. Compassion triumphs over power. Intelligence triumphs over strength. From the myths we learn about so much more than stolen fire.

DJM Image - 2025